


See You Next Level

by midnightarchives



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canon Compliant, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Feels, GhostAU, I Should Stop Now, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Old Age, Seriously tho, Tread Carefully, You Have Been Warned, Young Victor Nikiforov, at least i hope so, go back if its not your cup of tea, i live for long haired victor nikiforov, idk how do you tag shit?, if you did i'm sorry and you're awesome, keep tissues around just in case, nobody reads this anyways, oh i remembered some, okay i give up, people die to become ghosts, read upp and enjoy, shutting up now, someone help me tag, that is to say one of the characters is a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 11:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightarchives/pseuds/midnightarchives
Summary: You are Nineteen when you first feel it. The Presence that seems to be a part of your very soul.You are Twenty Five when you start to get desperate for something unseenA story that begins with an end





	See You Next Level

**Author's Note:**

> ME: I promise I'll come up with a lot of good stuff for this fandom, ohmygosh i have sooooo many ideas!
> 
> also me: *gets depressed and goes mia, whips something up at 3 am and forgets about it for months*
> 
> There should be a lot of mistakes as I haven't really proof read so please bear with it ^^ This one was extremely experimental. I've never written anything like this and I don't know if I will in the future. I was very happy to just finally be writing again and I wanted to share that with you all :)
> 
> That being said I hope you like it <3
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING AT THE BOTTOM

See you next level

You are 19 when you first feel it. The presence. You have delivered another exemplary skate - the best of your career so far - and the feeling of being watched settles under your very spine for the briefest moment. The moment drowns under your eyelids as you let the roar of thousands fill your veins. Of course, you are being watched by millions.

They want to call the sheer self-pride in your chest vain but the gold disc on your chest shushes them all into quite, envious fuming. You _deserve_ to stand there. I know.

Stepping off of the podium is just as exhilarating to you as stepping on it. Your flag lies heavy and proud on your back. A weight you broke your body to hold on to. To your right, a Japanese flag flutters. You have always believed that not coming first is not winning at all but yet you allow yourself a moment of remorse for the career that you just pushed to its end.

You stare at the older man who skates around lighter than you have ever seen him, his age stiffened body gliding smoother than yours. He smiles at you knowingly, reassuringly and then skates, with what seems to be relief in his shoulders to a waiting wife and two daughters, the biggest smile on his face as he flashes silver.

He is happier than you.

You don’t understand.

 

 

“Makkachin! Let’s get a girlfriend!” you state suddenly to your beloved poodle, who smiles at you with all teeth and tongue and an Olympic gold flashing around his neck in the sunlight. He is simply happy to get more cuddles from you. It’s been the longest that you’ve left him after all. You should take better care of him. 

“Or a boyfriend, you know? A boyfriend will be nice. Or a… a they? friend?” the proper terminology escapes you and you promise yourself to look it up later.

“I don’t mind either way” you sigh “I just want someone to hold and cherish and cuddle and love for the rest of my life.” You absently rub Makka’s belly while you hum sweetly and gaze out of the window.

_You just want another dog, you diva._

You snap your head back alarmingly quickly. You stare at your dog for an unreadable second.

“Did you just… huff Makkachin?”

Makka woofs at you at his name and you relax.

 _Of course,_ you think as you watch Makka wag himself dizzy. You laugh and scoop him up. “Your buddy is being silly isn’t he Makkachin? ‘Let’s get a lover!’ Ha!” you giggle at yourself. “Think about how Yakov would react to it? ‘VITYA! STOP BEING DISTRACTED AND FOCUS ON YOUR JUMPS!? HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?’” You do a pretty good job at recreating your coach’s deep boom. Though, Yakov will probably max out his credit card setting up the perfect first date for you if you decide to. 

 

~o*0*o~

 

You are 22 when you know. You know it in your very bones. Know it so spectacularly that you couldn’t deny it anymore.

 _My house is haunted._  You think, making me snort. 

You negate all the ugly spewing in your mind by pouring yourself in the beauty of ice in the day and the thrill of bass in the nights.

I make you sound like some man-whore, but the truth is incredibly undeniable. You are guilty of drowning in your loneliness, of muffling the noise in your head by those of your nameless lovers. You can’t claim to never have seeked companionship in flashing strobe lights and sparkling, colorful drinks.

One evening you break The Rule that you’ve always followed and bring your partner home. Tipsy on bubbles, you don’t think much about it and let the woman rake her claws down your back.

 _Bozhe, that’s going to leave a mark_ , the whistle in your mind freezes on your tongue*(in your throat) at the crash across the room and you freeze.

“Oh dear, is your dog going to be alright all alone outside?” you know that the sound didn’t come from outside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you turn your head, your eyes wide with fear of what you might see. There, on the other side of the room, a glass vase lies on the floor in shatters, some 10 feet away from its meticulous perch on your desk.

You run. You run bare-chested with unbuttoned jeans and an abandoned woman in your bed. You scoop Makka from the living room and hightail it out of the building. You don’t stop until you are on the streets.

The next day, you call a realtor to sell your house.

 

~o*0*o~

 

You are 23 when you finally move into your new apartment, a place much nicer than the previous one. This is all spacious rooms and wide doors and modern architecture. If you are being honest, this was the last place you would’ve imagined yourself settling in.

Every house you had looked at, you had felt me. Felt me following you, felt my distress at the ghastly interiors and shady curtains clinging to your skin like exhaustion after a long day every time you saw a new house. It unsettled you in an inexplicable way, discouraged you so much that you had given up on moving. Deep down, you know that it is not your apartment that ties me down.

You are going to meet your dancer friend now. He is visiting the country and once again, you know that I am following you, like always do. Strangely enough, you are not scared today.

“Gets quite boring in the empty house, doesn’t it?” you smile at me knowingly from your rear-view. You stare my seat that appears empty in your mirror, your voice casual yet your breath baited.  You do that a lot lately, staring at me, and I don’t understand. It’s the first time you address me, acknowledge me and wait for an answer, a little _something_ that tells you that you still hold your sanity. The stagnant silence stretches out until you sigh at the lack of response and start the car.

It is when you are talking to your friend that you feel it. Ease, happiness, comfort. It permeates the entire room. You get up and follow the feeling to the balcony.

It’s bright and airy, Makka’s coat glows in the sunlight as he jumps around me playfully, your eyes move over the small space, chasing a sight forbidden to your eyes and yet you see my smile.  I’ll never know how, but in that moment, you see the inexplicably radiant _something_ that bubbles high in your chest. You smile back at me, brighter than any sun; the feelings you recognized earlier are no longer second hand.

“Say, Sergei… what do you think about selling this place?”

 

~o*0*o~

 

You are 24 when you leave Makka alone for the first time.

>>Sorry, can’t make it today. Family emergency.

You curse loudly on the plane. Your sitter bailed at the last possible moment. Yuri, Mila, Georgi, are all off to the Golden Skate that your injured hip couldn’t attend.   Yakov obviously had left with them and now you have a baby home alone.

At that bored point of temporary unemployment, your free time seemed like a good idea to take up on the perfume ad your manager had been bugging you about. You should have trusted the bad feeling in your gut.

It takes you 20 hours, 2 lawyers and 3 flights to come bursting through the door calling for Makka.

“MAKKACH—” a low thud cuts you off. You run after the sound that brings you to your bookshelf and there, right underneath the wooden frame, beside a pile of neatly scattered books, you see Makka on the floor with his nose buried in his bowl. He looks up to give you his attention in the form of a woof before going back to his food.

You walk to the pile and crouch down beside Makkachin to brush his fur softly. The open book  discarded face down on the floor catches your eye and you pick it up

_Pride and Prejudice._

You smile despite yourself and dog ear the open page and go to put it back on the shelf. You stop in a moment of confusion, your hand hovering over the wood. 

“Oh no. No, no-.” you put the book down and pull a stack out from the lower shelves. “Christine stays on the top. Gardner…” you fill the emptied shelf with Christine and pull books out from every stack, “he stays on the lower shelf” you replace the books, putting them back in their annoying and senseless arrangement with satisfaction. “Okay?”

Makka barks at you in agreement and you laugh, patting and ruffling him. “Not you. You don’t want to go out today boy? No?  Okay then. I’ll go take a nap. Be good” you kiss him walk to your room, exhaustion deep in your bones and content etched on your face.

You wake up to the setting sun and the smell of fresh coffee wafting into the air. You follow it like a zombie with your eyes still closed.

“Yura, are you trying to steal my skates again?”  Then you remember. Yura isn’t in Russia. You open our eyes to an empty, spotless kitchen and a steaming mug of beverage waiting for you on the counter.

You pick it up without hesitation. Perhaps it’s that you’re still half asleep, this should be horrifying to you, blood curdling even, you know that, and yet, all you can think is _maybe this isn’t so bad_.

You walk to your bookshelf to grab a compliment to your coffee and stop short in the face of your worst nightmare.

“Maybe it is.”

~o*0*o~

 

You are 25 when you start to get desperate. Desperate for something unseen.

The chords of a song reverberate in your mind. You want to get closer, you want to reach out. You start working on your masterpiece.

 

~o*0*o~

 

You are 27 when you win gold in Sochi. An inconsequential win made only for more decoration in your room from a skate closest to your heart. Unknown to you, the plea you etched on the ice throbs in someone’s heart as you thoughtlessly, cruelly, leave.

It is the next morning and you are woken up by the shrill trill of your phone.

“YOU HAVE NO _IDEA_ OF WHAT YOU JUST MISSED VIKTOR!!!”

“A hot-shot sponsor deal?” your voice is dripping sarcasm despite the croak of sleep in it. It’s too early for this.

“You want to be a dick and not care about me taking the time to make sure that you’re not left out when I could just be chasing my future husband down? Well be my guest.”

You feel bad about the hurt in your friend’s voice but it’s still too damn early.

“Chris, I just woke up, I’m hungover. I can’t deal with this right now. Did you take any pictures?”

“Oh yes! Tons of them! Viktor, you won’t believe. There was this boy-“

“Send me the pics, then. I’ll check it out later.” Chris huffs, calls you a few insults, blows you a kiss and hangs up. You hum in appreciation of the quiet and blink sleepily up at Makka. He barks and proceeds to lick you good morning. You laugh.

_Worth 10 of those banquets._

Your phone starts pinging with a fury. You let it till it stops.

35 unread messages.

 

You stare

 

>>Delete all<<

 

You click. You don’t want to start your day miserable.  

~o*0*o~

 

You are 27 when you think that it’s a ~~hilarious~~ goodidea to get drunk and set up a talking board. You go all out with the candles and incenses and Jack Daniels.

You call for me; you cry for me, you beg me to just let you _see_. You beg for something more than the definite knowledge in your heart. I grant your wish. Simply because I can’t take it anymore.

I come to you from behind the door like a shadow into the candlelight and you gasp in disbelief, stumbling off of your butt and onto your back.  You didn’t think that it would work.

But then you right yourself and look at me. Really look at me and you are breathless. You think that I am ethereal. Exquisite and amazing and _awesome_ in the most basic sense.

“Yo-you’re beautiful” you breathe, stumbling over your words with how dumbstruck you are. I duck my head to chuckle, embarrassed by your attention.

“You really are real” you whisper. You want to cry, your eyes are teary and chest on fire. You are in awe and I, in love.

“Some might want to disagree with that” I smirk and move to sit across from you on the floor. Makka abandons your warmth quickly to crawl into my lap for cuddles and you have a tight bundle on your face. It’s a bundle years of curiosity and questions and affection packed closely and buried deep. 

“Please don’t ask me something that I can’t explain Viktor.”  I pronounce your name with a ‘k’ sound. Sharply and perfectly; the way that it always should be, but only I can utter.

You crawl across the board, knocking over a few candles and I’m worried about the flame but then your face is a mere inch away from mine and I am just as incapable of speech as you are. You hold me frozen in place. Grounded.

“You…” you whisper, brushing my face reverently and I feel breath for the first time in years. “You have the most amazing suit I have ever seen.”

I laugh, my tears a freefall down my face as I look at you lose it “No, seriously. You’re so… wow. And your dressing is so beautiful and just… _wow_ ” your eyes are sparkling in a way that warms your entire face, the feeling so foreign to you yet hauntingly familiar, dear. You’re breathing in awe again and I sniffle.

“It’s yours.”

“Huh?” you look to be in a daze.

“It’s your design” you blink back blankly and I smile when my implication dawns on you, knocking the breath out of you. I pat my side and you come to sit beside me obediently, scooting impossibly close. We talk all night, you hang onto my every word. Wordlessly, you let me in like it was the easiest, most natural thing to do. You let me sear your very core.

 

We talk till you are nodding off in my lap in the early hours of morning. I thread my fingers through your hair and smile at how content you look, our eyelashes flutter, bright gold in the faint candle light, and brush against your cheekbone in soft kisses.

Softly as I can, I shift your head on Makka and get up. I am ready to leave. You feel me being bereaved from you and you shudder, as if your body fell through thin ice into the unforgiving depths of darkness below.

You grab at me restlessly. Your face twisted in horror before the desperation from earlier comes back, now running down your face as you roll over and clench my pants, you get on your knees and you beg me to stay. To stay by your side.

Why do you do this? Why do you want me like this? I’ll never know the answer to that. All I know is that I can never see you in pain. I lean down to cradle your red face.  

_Have I told you that you are the most beautiful crier?_

“Yu-Yuuri!” you hiccup into my palms. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. You can’t! What would I do Yuuri? Wha-what do I _do_?!”

_Why do you love me like this?_

I touch your warm forehead with mine. Our tears mix and you look at me like I just took away your reason for living.

“Vitya…” you shake your head no. You hold onto me tighter and refuse to look at me. I tilt your face to me to drink in your sweet intoxicating breath one last time.

“You” my voice finally cracks. The sob caged in my chest destroying me. “Find me Viktor. Find me and hold me and _never_ let me go.”

 

  

Come morning, you may not remember all of it. I’m sure that you will remember enough to look for me frantically. You will search ‘Japanese figure skater’ because that is the only thing you know.

And you will find, on the very top of your suggested, a video uploaded 20 hours ago.

 

_Japanese figure skater [Katsuki Yuuri] tried to skate Viktor Nikiforov’s FS [Stay Close To Me]_

 

~o*0*o~

 

I am 87 when you come to my bed and you smile at me just as brightly as you did the first day.

“Yuuurrii~” you place the flowers - blue roses - in my bedside vase and poke my belly when you sit beside me. “How is my piggy feeling today?”

 _Determined_ is the answer but I know better than to tell you that. You have a way to make my decisions as fragile as my heart. It can’t happen today. I’ve waited for this long enough, this is the only chance.

“Ready” I reply with my bravest smile. Yours tighten in return because you are not. You never will be.

“Stop that” you roll your eyes half heartedly and pull out your phone with a slight quiver in your hand. “The recital went well today. I took lots of pictures!”

I grab your hand and squeeze and all your fake cheer is gone. “Viktor… you know.” You know that it’s time but you just shake your head, denying me as usual.  Your lips are turned sour and your eyes glassy.

“Have I told you that you are the most beautiful person in the world?”  

Your eyes snap at me “I am mad, okay! You can’t say that. Stop saying that!” You wipe your nose on your sleeve and I can’t bring myself to tease you about decorum. 

“It’s not fair!” you try to yell but your voice breaks in a wet sob. You are about to break and it’s too much for me.  “I am Viktor Nikiforov! I go first! That’s The Rule!”

I hold your hand with both of mine and you cling right back. I kiss my ring on your finger.

“No Viktor, The Rule is to never tell Yura just how bad his leopard pants looked” I brush your tears, they don’t go away. Your face is washed in sunlight, you glow brighter than anyone. You are all mine. “It’s tim—”

“NO! No Yuuri. As-as you coach, I forbid you from saying that.”

“Ah, Viktor, but I’ve never been good at following orders.”

“Stop! You just _think_ that this is it Yuuri. It isn’t.  We still have sky diving lessons to take. The doctor says-“

“Vitya” I squeeze your hand tighter “let go”

“ _Never._ ” your voice is rough, your words fervent. “I’ll stay close to you, I’ll never let go. You know that” you are whimpering now. And _this_ , seeing you like this, being the one to do this to you, this is the strongest pain that I have ever felt.

“Hey Vitya~” you turn your head to look up at me from my chest and I beckon you closer. You bump my forehead with yours with my hands held tightly in yours, your lip between your teeth and your body shaking over mine.

I nuzzle our noses together and smile at you.

“I’ll see you next level.”

“Yuuuri…”

I feel you break on top of me. You say something that I can’t hear. I have closed my eyes now. I can’t see your pain any longer.

The world stills, then erupts in a roar.

I open my eyes. I am standing in an ice arena in the costume closest to my heart. I stand in the center with the crowd cheering on its feet all around me. I don’t see them. I am not on the podium. I am standing in front of it, looking up at long silvery hair and bright blue eyes full of diming light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The End…..?

 

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING***I've mentioned this in the tags but this is a GHOST AU. Yuuri katsuki being the ghost that apparently haunts Viktor. I decided to not tag it with major character death because this story focuses on what happens after. The story begins with an end and that is the core of it. However, we do see Yuuri's death and if that is too much to handle please do not read this. Or skip the last part.***
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this. Kudos and comments make me just as happy as long haired vitya so go ahead, make my day please <3 
> 
> Yell at me about my shit job on Instagram(@anxiety_katsudon) I post pretty yoi pics everyday and I don't bite


End file.
